


Noldorin Independence Day

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 15:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: An invented family holiday puts Fingon on edge with a number of family members, especially Finrod, who is just trying to make the best of it.





	1. Happy---

“Cousin!” Finrod dropped his pack on the floor of the hallway and spread his arms open wide as he approached Fingon. “Happy—“

“No.” Fingon was standing in the middle of the hall holding a bowl of steamed noodles and mushrooms in one hand and his chopsticks with the other. An adornment in his hair that resembled his eating utensils kept his braids bundled up atop his head. Even this early, Fingon had painted dark liner around his eyes, and the lids were powdered with gold to match the threads in his braids and the stitching on his black leather leggings. He was barefoot and looked fairly settled in at their grandfather’s estate for the yearly reunion that Indis insisted upon, despite the fact that something always went wrong.

Finrod paused mid-stride for a moment, then continued. Behind him, Amarie giggled as the butler shut the front door. “Happy—“

“NO.” Fingon glared, but continued to eat his noodles. “We will have none of that here.”

“Oh, come on, cousin,” admonished Finrod as he pronounced each syllable with emphasis. “Let me get it out once.”

“No. It never stops after the first time. You are going to greet every person that comes through that door with it,” Fingon declared as he used the chopsticks for emphasis. “Good day, Amarie,” he added.

“Good day, Fingon,” she replied with a sweet smile. “Happy Noldorin Independence Day.”

Fingon stood absolutely still, chopsticks still raised up at an angle.

Finrod grinned. “Happy—“

“You are not even Noldorin!” Fingon scolded Amarie.

“Fingon, just let me say it once,” grumbled Finrod, but still he smiled.

“Noldorin by marriage,” Amarie argued with without hesitation.

Indis chose that moment to descend from the stairs. “Finrod! Amarie! So good to see you! Happy Noldorin Independence Day,” she added as she embraced each in turn.

“Yes, Happy Noldorin Independence Day to you, too, Indis,” declared Amarie again.

“Uhh.” Fingon dropped the chopsticks into his bowl, which he thrust out in the direction of the butler. He turned to leave with a shake of his head. “Vanyar are ridiculous,” he could be heard muttering as he retreated to another part of the house.


	2. One More for the Road

There was an insistent knocking on the door which did not stop no matter how long Fingon tried to ignore it.  He went to the door, opened it, saw Finrod standing there, and slammed the door shut again.  There was peace for a moment, but only just a moment, before the knocking resumed.  Fingon opened the door again, and Finrod nearly tumbled into the room.  “If you say it, I am going to shut the door again, and I will not even care if it hits your nose.”

“What?  Say what?  I just had a question for you.”  Finrod spoke rather quickly, as if convinced the door might close even if he did not say the phrase Fingon expected him to say (which was, in fact, exactly what he initially intended to say).  “I just wanted to ask you what color fireworks you wanted for the celebration tonight.  That was all.”

“You mean the celebration that glorifies the burning of the ships at Losgar.”  Fingon was standing dead center in the doorway to keep Finrod from entering.

“Ahh… you know, I never thought of it quite that—“

“The celebration that reminds me year after year that I was separated from my beloved cousin because his father, our uncle, was a maniacal fool who was more interested in reclaiming a few shiny rocks than he was in comforting our poor grandmother and keeping her from having to erect memorial after memorial for the fallen members of the family, which soon included one for him, though he deserved it not from the way he always treated her?”

“You really like to interrupt pe—“

Fingon took a step into the hallway, which caused his fairer cousin the need to step back.  “The celebration that recalls that we and several hundred thousand of our closest friends and dearest family members attempted to cross the grinding ice of the most hellish part of all creation, which in turn was the reason why my sister-in-law had no grave and my niece had no mother and my brother had no wife when we finally reached shore, only to have another brother immediately and mercilessly taken from us, and to learn in the weariness of our wayward wanderings that indeed not only was the fool dead but that his son, too, was a fool, and found himself victim of a cruel captivity?”

As Fingon took a breath of air, Aredhel and Turgon happened to turn a corner of the hallway.  The former appeared about to greet everyone with a joyous swell of well wishes for a wondrous Noldor Independence Day, but Turgon appeared to perceive the tension and whispered something to her as he shuffled her off to the room she always stayed in at the estate.

“I think your math might be a little exager—“

“The celebration that rekindles the memories of me, with knife in hand, and him, with pain in his eyes, and the words ‘kill me’, uttered over and over in the voice that should have whispered softly ‘kiss me’ instead?”

Finrod frowned.  “That was probably more than I needed to know about your relationship with him.”

Fingon huffed and glared, eyes narrowed.  “Keep the damn fireworks.”

“Why do you even come every year if you are just going to pout the entire week?”

There seemed to be almost serious consideration of an answer, and then Fingon replied, “I come for the reunion.  I stay for the kinslayer jokes.”

“I am not sure if I should laugh at that or not,” Finrod said just before the door was slammed in his face again.


	3. Forgive But Never Forget

“Sorry I was late.”

“I forgive you.”

“We would have been here sooner, but it took Celegorm for damned near ever to pack.”

“It really is alright.”

Maedhros and Fingon were sitting on an upper branch of an old maple tree near to where the rest of the family was setting off enough fireworks to set a whole fleet of ships on fire.  They had managed quite easily to slip away after dinner but before nightfall, and with the mingling of the crowd below and the cover of night, there was little worry that anyone would discover them.

“So what did you do all day without me?” Maedhros was taking no chances that someone might hear, and his comments were all whispered directly and softly into Fingon’s right ear.

In return, it was Fingon who give his whispered replies into Maedhros’ left.  “Ate noodles and annoyed Finrod.”

Maedhros smirked and Fingon smiled back at him.  A red and gold burst of light went off just overhead and sprinkled down the sparks to bounce off their knees and boots.  “Finrod probably deserved it.”

“Finrod always deserves it.”  Fingon leaned his head against Maedhros’ shoulder.  “I hate this holiday,” he said as softly as possible as one of the fireworks boomed overhead.

“So do I.”

Fingon sat back up and looked at his companion.  “Really?”

“It is not even a real holiday,” admonished Maedhros.  “It always reminds me of what idiots we all were.”  He ground his teeth, and then added, “Independence is one thing.  Our dispute was with the Valar – with the fallen who wronged us, and the powers that acted as if we were still newly awakened and in need of supervision and rules of their making, demanding we return to our rooms as if we were naughty elflings to be punished.  But then, we had to act upon that, and do the unthinkable.  Like children we acted in haste, and I, the child who believed he would be disowned by his father should I refuse to kill as he did.”  Maedhros sighed and put an arm around Fingon for strength and support.  “I was so afraid he would stop loving me if I failed him as a son.  So I killed them, I killed as many as I could.”  He hung his head.

“We were all caught up in it.  I was so afraid that—“  Fingon bit his tongue.  When Maedhros looked up, Fingon closed his eyes and said, “I was afraid if I did not participate, you would… stop loving me,” he said in a rush.

Maedhros pursed his lips and looked out into the sky.  It was all darkness now, save for the speckles of starlight.  Nearly everyone had gone back in the house, and those who were still outside dispersed to walk in the gardens.  “I never wanted to ask if you actually took part.  That night was a blur.  I have little recollection of who else had sword drawn, but I cannot think of it without recalling of the faces of the sailors I killed.  Slaughtered.  Murdered.”

Fingon nodded slowly, also avoiding eye-contact.  “Finrod covered it up.  Everyone always believed whatever he said.  Turgon was beside me that night after it happened, so he saw.  He knew; Finrod knew about everything Turgon knew.  Turgon helped me bury the bodies of the four I killed.  He and I have never spoken of it since.”  Fingon closed his eyes and rubbed at them.  “I just cannot bring myself to celebrate it.”

“I have an idea.  A new tradition.”  Maedhros stifled a yawn.  “What if we travel to the shore tomorrow and spend the day in meditation, in remembrance of the fallen.  I cannot promise it will not bring us grief to do so, but perhaps there is some small chance it might bring about some peace for us both.”

“It has to mean something,” decided Fingon.  “Not just for us, but I feel it needs to be something that shows others more than a single day of sincerity.”

Slowly, Maedhros nodded, but his words did not completely agree with his cousin.  “Perhaps that is something for the future.  First, we must each forgive our own self, for until we do that, how can we ask for the forgiveness of others?  How can we fully repent until we fully understand our deeds and reflect upon them?”

Fingon’s hand covered over his eyes, and it was difficult in the shadows of the branches to know his purpose. 

“Will you come with me tomorrow to the shore?” asked Maedhros when Fingon did not answer him.  “Will you hold a day of remembrance for the Teleri with me?”

Cautiously, Fingon turned his head to look upon Maedhros.  “May I ask Turgon if he would care to join us?”

“Of course,” replied Maedhros without hesitation.  He looked to Fingon, but only for a second before he shied away again.  “I may speak to Caranthir about it as well.”

Fingon nodded.  He looked back up into the sky.  They remained silent until Maedhros touched Fingon’s cheek.  Fingon turned his head back abruptly and saw the pain in Maedhros’ eyes, familiar yet different.  “Kiss me,” he whispered, and Fingon squeezed his eyes shut to banish the image from his mind that threatened to trigger a flood of unwanted memories.  Fingon swallowed hard after their lips briefly pressed together, for Maedhros whispered against Fingon’s mouth, “It will take time for me to forgive myself for killing the innocent, but I am never going to be able to forgive myself for the crime of making you think you had to kill for me.”


End file.
